


Lux Lucet

by Pandaquinn6



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Dark, Dark Lord, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Forced Marriage, Marriage, Rituals, Romance, horcrux, marriage ritual, not Voldemort - yet?, not dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:09:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandaquinn6/pseuds/Pandaquinn6
Summary: Hermione gets a letter that may change her life - her entire reality - in the blink of a day. Riddle learns experimenting with dark magic doesn't always go the way he plans, especially when the creators forget to write what happens after the spells are cast...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94





	1. The Letter

Hermione, as usual, was curled up in her den enjoying her new book which she had picked out on her most recent trip to Diagon Alley earlier that week. The fireplace burned brightly in her flat, illuminating the pumpkins and gourds she had decorating the space for autumn. It also provided a warm radiant heat, allowing her to snuggle deeper into her blanket and stay warm despite the quickly dropping temperatures outside.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Hermione looked up from the book of _Moste Unusual Creatures_ at the sound of an owl arriving at the window. Her eyebrows rose, surprised at an owl arriving so late. It was far past normal hours, approaching midnight, meaning it must be rather important for a friend to be reaching out so late. 

Hermione gently placed her book on the coffee table, inserting a bookmark to keep her place, as she rose to let the owl inside. The owl swooped in quickly once the window was opened and impatiently stuck its leg out to display a letter. A ministry letter. 

Hermione was disgruntled that her employer would reach out this late at night - and on a Friday! Didn’t they already take enough of her life away from her constant overtime during the week? It was rare she ever left before 10pm as her supervisor set unrealistic standards - afterall, he hired the brains of the golden trio for a reason. Hermione hastily grabbed the letter, the owl indignantly taking off back out the open window into the chilly night air. Once the window was closed Hermione quickly threw the letter down, determined to return to her peaceful weekend and open it later. Crookshanks purred as she returned, Hermione settling back into her original spot.

* * *

The next day, Hermione, Luna, and Ginny met up for their weekly Saturday brunch. It was Hermione’s turn to pick the location and she had taken them to a spot she traveled to often when her parents were still in London - Otter Nonsense. The place specialized in mimosas, which Ginny especially enjoyed. “How is wedding planning going?” asked Luna, sipping on her second mimosa.

“It’s going well! Though Mom is overly emotional” said Ginny, smiling as she spoke. “She keeps mentioning how empty the burrow feels, now all of us but Ron have moved out.”

“Have you set a date yet?” 

“Yes! We’re hoping to get married in July, a few weeks before Harry’s birthday. We were hoping it could be sooner, but we decided it made more sense for Harry to finish Auror training first” Ginny stated, as she took a bite of french toast. Harry had started the auror program shortly after retaking his final year and passing his NEWTS. The year long program meant that he would finish this upcoming May. “That way we can truly enjoy our honeymoon!” she laughed. 

“That’s great, I’m so happy for both of you!” Hermione smiled, happy that Ginny and Harry were finally taking the next step in their relationship. After the Battle of Hogwarts, they had announced that they were engaged. Harry had proposed to Ginny in the Room of Requirement during the Horcrux search, hoping to express to Ginny how deeply he loved her and hoped for their future together. 

“What about you Hermione, spill! Any budding love?” Ginny grinned. Luna leaned forward, her radish earrings swaying at the movement. 

“No no, I’ve been far too busy at work to date” Hermioned sighed. She hadn’t dated since a failed attempt with Neville a few months ago. Luna had stated that the nargles had indicated that they weren’t compatible - Hermione figured she should’ve listened to Luna’s advice before taking him up on his offer. Since the date, they hadn’t spoken. She often missed their debates - as she had a hard time engaging anyone else in the different uses of shrivelfig in experimental potions based on conditions of their harvest. 

“You sure, Hermione?” Luna asked, her eyes glittering in the morning light. “Your entire aura is a different color and the nargles are absolutely dancing. I’ve only seen Nargles act this way around the senior Malfoys” Luna explained, thinking of the Malfoy couple at the graduation ceremony. 

“I have no idea what you mean, I’ve barely spoken socially to anyone” Hermione stated, confused at the unusual Nargle comment. 

“Maybe you’ve met your soulmate without knowing it!” Ginny exclaimed, causing a few heads to turn their way and Hermione to quickly shush her ginger friend. 

“I feel like you would remember that” Luna said softly, a playful smile on her angelic face. “I’m sure everything will make sense soon, Nargles are exceptionally futuristic” she elaborated. 

“Well, if you’re interested, I’ve met a Swedish Quidditch player on my tour with the Harpies. His name is Oscar and he’s an absolute model. He stated he wanted to do a tour of London, maybe you could be his tour guide” Ginny urged, winking. Matchmaking was a passion of hers that she prided herself on after uniting the most unusual couple of Lavender Brown with Blaise Zambini. 

“If I have to listen to another male obsessed with Quidditch - I think I might stay single forever” Hermione explained, thinking back to her short and almost non-existent relationship with Ron.

“Fine, fine. You’re probably right - Quidditch is too physical. You need someone more… bookish” Ginny said, as she took another sip of her mimosa. 

“I think you’d be well matched with a Capricorn - they’re quite charming and hard working. Though I know you’ve never put much faith into the stars” she said dreamily. Luna had loved divination and astrology, relating that most of life's mysteries could be determined if one only looked in the right place. 

“You need time though to date! If Pillsworth doesn’t give you a day off soon, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind” insisted Ginny. “It’s absolutely ridiculous - aside from our Brunches, we hardly even see you anymore.”

“Speaking of that man, can you believe Pillsworth had the audacity to send me a letter around midnight last night?” Hermione stated, remembering the owl. 

“He didn’t!” Ginny exclaimed. “What did it say?” her curiosity outweighing the audacity. 

“I haven’t read it yet, actually. But who else could it be from?” Hermione stated. “It’s probably just another scathing review of my most recent project. I swear this man is harder to please than Professor Snape”

“It’s unfortunate, you know. You really should look to change careers - he is a terrible supervisor. Dad said you’re the 8th new member to that office in as many years - he keeps running good employees to the door” Ginny explained.

“I would, but I just find the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes allows me to specialize in bringing everything we learned at Hogwarts together - and permits me access to books you wouldn’t even imagine existed - did you know that there’s a book related to the various ways you can use Ancient Runes to enhance your spell casting specifically relating to certain ceremonial rituals to improve your charms for the duration of an entire season?” Hermione gushed, quickly becoming absorbed in the details she had learned after becoming slightly distracted attempting to learn a charm to remove another ministry employee's horns that had sprouted after a poorly cast spell to provide protection. “For instance, a small meditation ritual on Beltane, provided the correct set up - a small pentagon with a semi circle exterior in aqua chalk, herbs - picked fresh and consisting of lemongrass, basil, valerian, and a few others, and runes - drawn in a very specific and elaborate pattern, can make a standard _Muffliato_ go from lasting a few hours to basically infinitely!” Hermione elaborated, clearly excited to share this newfound and impressive knowledge with others. She was shocked that the wizarding world didn’t speak about this type of knowledge or consistently practice it based on how much more effective this would make spellcasting. As she looked up to Luna and Ginny, she noticed that while they had been humming agreement and interest throughout her speech, they weren’t really that interested. 

Quickly, the topic changed back to a routine conversation - such as how the Quibbler was doing these days - and the disappointment was forgotten. 

* * *

Hermione returned to her flat later that afternoon, belly full and socially exhausted. Crookshanks was resting atop the windowsill bathing in the warm sun rays bursting into the den. Hermione went to pick up the book she had been reading the night before when she noticed the unopened letter. Curiosity getting the better of her, she picked it up to see what Pillsworth wanted from her the night before. She slowly pulled off the stamped ministry insignia wax seal from the letter. 

Upon the release of the wax seal, the letter ripped out of her hands and rose up into the air as it emitted a blinding white light, then slowly settled back on the table to be read. Hermione gasped, never before having seen any letter act in such a way. She hesitantly picked the letter back up, worried it might again behave oddly before beginning to read it. In large script, it stated:

Soulmates

Hermione Jean Granger

DOB: September 19, 1979

&

Thomas Marvolo Riddle

DOB: December 31, 1926

Hermione gasped, clutching the letter tightly between both hands and staring at the vague but clear letter in front of her. Questions raced through her mind as she lowered herself onto her couch. Was this a prank? Where did this letter come from? What did it mean - it said they were soulmates - but, what did that even mean outside of the traditional love stories about soulmates muggles wrote? Hermione had never taken the time to delve into anything related to romance and wizardry as it was a topic of magic closely related to divination and quite frankly useless to her. Why would _she_ be soulmates with _him_ \- the darkest wizard to ever live? The entire thing had to be a poor prank designed by one of the manic supporters still out there. 

As Hermione refocused on the letter, she noticed at the bottom it said “Rites Phase 1 Initiated.” Hermione didn’t breathe for a second, but quickly remembered that Voldemort was beyond dead. She had personally seen to the destruction of his horcruxes and watched with her own eyes as he was killed by Harry. Able to breathe again, she noticed that it also had another part below that, in constantly transforming ink there was a countdown.


	2. Wildflowers

59 seconds, 58 seconds, 57 seconds. It counted down quickly, but to what? A deep fear settled in Hermione’s stomach - what if this was another way to resurrect himself? Another failsafe to guarantee his immortality? Another second lost. Hermione quickly spurred into action - she was not taking any risks on not being prepared for whatever the countdown had in store for her. She quickly ran into her bedroom, grabbing her beaded bag which was prepared with a variety of useful items - a habit left from war. She had to be prepared at all times to pick up and run. Hermione also grabbed a wad of Galleons from her hiding spot beneath her bed. Money was something they lacked when they were on the run during 7th year - a mistake she would not repeat. Eating berries and roots for months on end once was enough for a lifetime. Hermione’s wand brushed against her upper arm in its holster. Anticipating about 20 seconds left she quickly donned a traveling cloak and headed to her personal library to attempt to find any text she may have on Wizarding Marriages or soulmates. Unfortunately, she had little luck as she put very little faith into divination, soulmates, predestination, or prophecies and she hadn’t had a serious enough romantic relationship to even consider researching the differences between a muggle and wizarding marriage. She vaguely remembered the bonding ceremony between Bill and Fleur though and knew that wizard marriages were unique. She quickly grabbed the books which she thought could be useful.

Hermione returned to her living room and Crookshanks padded over worriedly, noticing that her familiar could sense her uncertainty; she patted her before picking up the letter. 5 seconds remained. Hermione arranged herself into a battle stance. As Moody would say - Constant Vigilance! Her best attempts to be prepared though were for naught, as she suddenly felt a pull behind her navel. She would relate the experience to a Portkey, except the major difference was that she felt rather like her entire body was being torn apart molecule by molecule and slowly being reshaped on the other side. Darkness overtook her. 

Then spat her out. 

The first thing Hermione noticed was that she was no longer in her flat - or London - for that matter. The sun shone brightly over her, bathing her in it’s warm rays. Blue skies and wildflower fields went almost as far as her eyes could see, and a lining of trees surrounded the large field. There were no buildings in sight, but she did notice a human form laying about 30 feet way in the field, face down. She carefully resumed her previous battle stance, clutching her wand and watching wearily for any movement. After a few minutes, she became unsure if the person was even alive. She slowly approached.

The figure - a man she had determined based on the muscular frame and short chestnut hair - was unmoving. He was still face down, surrounded by the blue and pink wildflowers which encompassed the entire field. He was wearing a traditional black wizarding robe and polished black dress shoes, a typical attire for a wizard. A timeless look. His arms were splayed out above his head and the man appeared wandless. Based on his frame, she assumed he was in his early twenties like herself. A puddle of blood appeared to be coming from below him, quickly growing in size. 

Despite Hermione’s better judgement, she was compelled into action at the sight of the blood. She hastily approached and gently rolled him over. Upon this action though, she came to confront a face she never had personally seen - but one she could never forget. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle lived once more. 

She gasped and pulled back as if burned. She felt true terror flood through her body and pointed her wand into his face.He appeared a few years older than the memories she had seen of him from the Chamber of Secrets incident. How was that even possible? Tom Riddle did not move. After a moment passed, she breathed again. Riddle was unconscious in the grass, covered in blood which soaked his pale chest. His cloak was open in the front and underneath she could see a grey shirt which had absorbed enough blood to appear black in most places. He appeared dead, but she needed to check to verify - as she had learned through Snape surviving the Shrieking Shack incident during the final battle - looks were deceiving.

She leaned down again and checked the pulse on his neck. Despite her hopes, he still lived. Which left her with quite the predicament. She needed to kill him. This man - though barely out of Hogwarts as it appeared in his current form - was a mass murderer. A psychopath. A delusional cult leader. The Dark Lord. She herself had suffered in ways she wished upon no other human due to his agenda and crazed followers. Despite having killed before, she had never killed a defenseless opponent. It gave her pause. All of the previous times she had been forced to kill had been in a moment of pure adrenaline during a fight to survive. 

A sound so tiny, so pained, and so fragile emitted from Riddle as she pondered her options. Her heart jerked and she reasoned that it was better for him as well as he seemed to be severely injured from whatever had happened before she arrived in the clearing. She raised her wand to cast, willing herself to freely think of all the hatred and harm that had happened during the war, and aimed at his form.

_ Avada Kedavra  _

Instead of a green light though, only a wisp of white smoke emitted from her wand. Hermione was stunned. She knew without a doubt that nothing had gone wrong with the spell. Her intent had been more than clear and her pronunciation was perfect as always. She attempted again, only to achieve the same result as before. Realizing that she probably didn’t need the killing curse to finish him off in this state, she prepared to cast again.

_ Sectumsempra _

Again, only wisps of white smoke appeared. Beginning to panic that her magic was on the fritz, she quickly cast her favorite spell- bluebell flames. The flames appeared instantly in her palm, warm and steady - a sharp contrast to her rapidly beating pulse. Satisfied that her spellwork wasn’t the source of the problem, she could only deduce that it meant she couldn’t cast any spells at Riddle. She determined it was possible that he had some type of enchantment over himself or relic in his possession which was causing this effect - anything was possible with the former dark lord. 

A small thought in the back of her mind whispered that nothing could stop the killing curse, but she ignored that for the time being as another sound escaped from his prone form. It was a sad drawn out whine of pain. It hit somewhere deep inside her chest. After seeing so much pain and death at the battle of Hogwarts, it resonated in a deep part of her psyche which she hadn’t revisited except for in the darkness of her room. In that moment, despite her much better judgement, she realized that she had a few options.

She could walk away and leave him to potentially bleed out and die in this field of wildflowers. The drawback was that she could never confirm or deny whether he had died, and that meant that he could amass power for years before he emerged again. Option two, which she had been attempting, would be to guarantee he died. Given the fact that her spellwork wasn’t working on him, she would need to result to muggle means, and she only had a knife. A gun really would have made it much easier. Since she had time to reflect, she also felt like he would be one of the best sources of information to determine what the letter from earlier was about - and how they had ended up in this field - and she was deeply concerned with finding out what exactly was happening. Which led her to her third option - she could attempt to save his life. She could then use him to figure out what was going on then develop a plan to assassinate him later. Perhaps even before he made a full recovery to make it even easier. Plan determined, she quickly set to work doing what she had never imagined she would - saving Tom Riddle’s life. 

* * *

The stench of blood filled the tent and left behind a metallic tang in the air. The tent that Hermione and the boys had used for the Horcrux hunt was an item that had never left her beaded bag. It had saved her life and she considered it dear to her heart despite some of the awful memories associated it with. The tent, while relatively still the same wizarding tent, had received some improvements since their time on the run. Some updates were made to it to include a private bedroom and bathroom. Originally, a bunk bed had resided in the main living area. She had made the improvement to a normal sized bed assuming that if she ever needed the tent again she would be alone. 

The fire flickered in the hearth unaffected to the scene that laid before it. War heroine Hermione Granger slowly finished the stitches on a deep wound on the breast bone of Tom Riddle, a few inches above where his heart beat steadily against his chest. She gently wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm, not realizing that his blood coated not only her hands, but her upper arms. His blood was everywhere. She had known it was going to be difficult and that he had lost a substantial amount of blood when she turned him over. She was fully unprepared for the extent of that truth. His chest was ripped open viciously along with another large slash running the length of his left arm.

It was a miracle that he was still alive. Or a curse, really, considering who it was and all. 

Hermione took a second and sat down in a stool that was next to the transfigured medical bed in the center of the common area. He was as stable as he was going to get with her limited amount of medical knowledge - which was still better than most - but nothing compared to what St. Mungos could have offered him. She had sent a patronus to Harry and Ron hours ago before she began the procedure, stating that it was an emergency and that she needed them to locate her - for she was not even sure of where she was - and to come at once. After an hour had passed, she had assumed that either they were having trouble locating her or that there was more to what was going on than she had first assumed. While she was tempted to leave and apparate to them herself, she couldn’t leave the dark lord unattended - what if he escaped? She also had no idea where she was - or even what country - and the results of trying to apparate too far would be deadly. 

Before the procedure, she had determined that he did indeed not have a wand which had relieved her immensely. There was little he could do without his wand, especially when she was still armed. In fact, he had no personal artifacts on his being at all aside from his clothing. There was nothing to do except for wait at this point and so she began the process of cleaning up. Once the main room had been scrubbed of blood with a quick  _ Scourgify  _ she proceeded to the bathroom to remove the blood from herself and her clothing. Looking down at her arm where her Mudblood scar was, she noticed that it was coated in his blood. 

His blood. His precious heir blood. The blood looked just like hers. It was a thought that stuck with her as she ran a washcloth over the scar. The blood ran rivets of red down the sink and spun into the drain. She felt a familiar pain in her chest as she thought about how much blood purity had attempted to destroy the world with its lies about worthiness and stolen magic. There was nothing to show for the lies except death and broken families on both sides of the war.

Hermione returned to the living area to find Riddle still motionless. She assumed based on the damage that she had triaged that he would remain that way for quite awhile as the potions took effect and his body attempted to repair the damage. She went to her bag to pull out some of the books she had tossed in hastily before departing, hoping that she would find answers.

Days went by with no change. Hermione had found little to no information so far from her research. She quickly settled into a daily routine of cooking, foraging, checking the wards, sending patronuses, and healing. She was beginning to worry - Harry and Ron hadn’t found them yet. She was sure that Harry had the entire Auror department out searching by this point. She was tempted to start walking to find the nearest town, but as more time passed she became even more nervous about leaving Riddle unsupervised. There was no telling what condition he would be in when he awoke or what plans he had now that he had returned. In the middle of the night, Hermione awoke to the sound of anguished screams. At first, she thought that she had been the one screaming as she often awoke to her own screams after the war. She quickly heard another scream which brought her to reality - she was in the tent - and the screams were coming from the common area. She jumped out of bed and ran to the source of the screams.

Riddle’s eyes were pressed shut and his jaw clenched in a grimace as his body shook. A low pained groan escaped through his clenched teeth. Hermione panicked, unsure of what was happening since this reaction was occurring so many days later. “Please, stop” came a whispered breath. “STOP!” a shout, the tone in his voice tortured. “Please, it wasn’t me” he breathed, though even in his voice he knew it was a pointless plea. Hermione felt herself soften. A nightmare. It was just a nightmare. She felt a fleeting moment of connection with Riddle before it was snuffed out upon remembering that  _ he  _ was the source of  _ her  _ nightmares. 

Hermione cast a silencing charm and went back to sleep.

* * *

Hermione peeled the tarnished bandages off of his chest. The wound had healed significantly though it was still an ugly open wound. It appeared to have been caused by dark magic or a cursed blade - neither of which would be surprising to her considering the owner of the scar. It would probably take advanced healing spells - or more dark magic - to fully heal. She wiped down the bloody scar with a white washcloth. The blood quickly turned the cloth red. What could have caused someone so smart - because everything she had ever learned about Riddle was that he was brilliant - to lead a revolution on blood purity? Especially when he himself was not even a pureblood. He had to have logically known that muggleborns were just as talented as any witch or wizard. That they were a necessary part of maintaining a strong wizarding community. Everyone knew purebloods were disappearing - too much inbreeding caused infertility and weak magical cores. Yet, he still attempted to eradicate muggleborns. She wanted to know why.

Why had she suffered so much due to an idea so illogical? From someone supposedly so bright? 

As she finished wrapping his bandages, she took in his entire form. He was filled out and muscular despite his lean frame. He appeared extremely healthy - one would even say at the peak of health despite the gash in his chest and the smaller slash on his arm. His chestnut hair was smooth and silky, framing his angular jaw and strong cheekbones. It gave him a boy-next-door appearance. He looked like a handsome young man, someone you could trust. He looked so innocent. He stirred, breaking Hermione out of her reflections. He often moved and twitched as his body was recovering. Hermione rose and began preparing her afternoon tea by putting the kettle on. After a few minutes, it whistled alerting her that the water was ready. She was in the middle of pouring her cup of tea when Riddle spoke.

“Who are you?” his voice cracked from the dryness of his throat. Tea splattered everywhere and porcelain shattered. 


End file.
